My heart knows
the loss of you
before my lips
have found the courage
to let you go.
I’m sitting inside myself,
mourning the hope of us
which will surely die
when I’ve spoken my truth.
I know what I will say,
given the opportunity
pattern making plain
the future.
I have my reply
before the conversation begins.
Saved on a notepad
for the next time that
you ask for my bed,
or claim that your schedule
is too busy for anything
more intimate.
Ask me
and I will copy and paste
my freedom into our text.
The pain, by then,
will be almost over
because I’ve been prepared
for your response
by predictability.
Allowing me to mourn
your answer
long before you spoke it.
It may confuse you,
that I even thought to
give opportunity to this conversation
when I knew your answer was
bound to hurt me,
but I thought that assumption
was shallow
and I wanted to give you
the chance to purposely
choose me.
Poetry on Paper 